


To Hell With The Plan

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Avengers, Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awkward Sex, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Getting Together, M/M, clint is bad at dating, phil's not much better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1364002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Phil are good at drunk sex, but not so great at the rest of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Hell With The Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdamantSteve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/gifts).



> Written for Adamantsteve's prompt for Phil and Clint having great drunk sex, but awkward real life sex. 
> 
> I tried a different writing style here, very dream like in places and little to no connective tissue. Turned out stranger than I thought and it was actually really difficult.

_Hands scrabbling at buttons. Mouth to mouth, kissing deep and long as bodies bump together. Skin, sweaty, salty, the smell of sandalwood and coffee. Pushing away fabric, unbuckling belts, kicking off shoes, one sock still on, pants just barely unzipped, briefs wedged down. Cock to cock, sliding between entwined fingers, cool slick gel, tension starting to boil over as knees hit the edge of the bed and both bodies go down in rush, collapsing with a tangle of arms and knees and open edges of shirts. So good, so good, so close, just right, there, there …_

_“Phil.”_

_“Fuck.”_

_“Going to …”_

_“Shut up and come, Barton.”_

Clint blinked his eyes, struggling awake. His head was pounding inside his skull, trying to leak out of his ears. His body ached in places he didn’t think he’d used … no, wait, he remembered …

_The rush of orgasm, coming hard and fast, curling into the warmth of the other body, drifting off …_

“Coffee?” Phil Coulson was leaning over him, offering him a white ceramic mug with the Rangers symbol on it. Steam drifted up from the dark liquid inside it. “Might help.”

Phil was rumpled in just a pair of Captain America sleep pants and nothing else, hair askew and his black rimmed glasses on. A trail of dark love bites ran from his collarbone to one nipple. Yeah, Clint claimed those, sucking each one in a little arrow design.

“Aw, fuck.” He pushed up and reached for the caffeine. His jeans were still unzipped and half down his hips but at least he had his briefs pulled up even if they were a mess. His t-shirt was rolled up under his armpits, and he had his own set of marks across his stomach courtesy of one Phil Coulson.

“Yeah,” Phil agreed, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking a sip of his own cup. “Nick spiked the eggnog. Never can tell what he’s going to do. Last year it was the marijuana laced brownies. He just likes to see how we’ll handle it. Or maybe he likes knowing who can and can’t deal with their liquor.”

“So, going with the ‘this never happened’ strategy or the ‘hey, it was nice, let’s ignore it’ gambit?” he asked. The hot brew helped, settling Clint’s head. He hadn’t blacked out, just been very, very relaxed and uninhibited. “Personally, I’m glad it was good drunk sex. That’s easier. Bad drunk sex? The worst. Awkward, let me tell you.”

“I like the ‘it was just sex’ line of reasoning. We’re grownups, we were drunk, no big deal.” Phil eyed him over the rims of those damn sexy glasses.

“Yep. Adult here. Just sex. Damn fine sex. Life goes on.” Clint glanced around the room. “You wouldn’t have a shirt I could borrow, would you?”

* * *

 

“Come on, Clint! This is a special occasion! It’s not every day that the Avengers become their own corporate entity. Take the stick out of your ass and drink up.” Tony pressed a tumbler into his hands and Clint had to take it. If Tony had his way, life would be one long party and right now, Clint just wanted to go to bed. He was tired and grumpy and was bruised from that stupid doombot that decided to play tag with him yesterday. “Seriously, Agent Agent is drinking. If he’s cutting loose, you can too. Just one drink.”

Seeing Clint looking at him, Phil grinned and waved a glass his direction before he turned his head to laugh at something Thor said. Something flipped over in Clint’s gut.

 “Fine, Tony. One drink,” Clint agreed.

_Hands wrapping around his biceps, back against the wall, shoulder a distant pain as he parted his lips to let his mouth be plundered. Hot, too hot, sweat rolling down the back of his neck, clothes too constraining, yanking at the cloth, tugging off shirts, pulling down zippers. Touch, need to touch, want to feel, throbbing ache, now, now, now._

_“Oh, God, Phil.”_

_Head thunking against the wall, palms splaying on the cool surface, pressing back to keep himself upright as the moist heat engulfs his cock, sliding down and all around him. So good, so good, so perfect, so tight, so good. Hips jerking forward, fingers lacing through brown hair, and he’s gone, coming in fits and starts as he groans loudly between harsh breaths._

_Weaving slightly, catching himself and dropping to his knees on the bed. Filling his mouth with Phil’s taste, the flushed skin beneath his tongue, sucking hard and taking it all._

_“Shit, Clint.”_

_“Need to …”_

_God …”_

_Wiping his mouth, flopping over on his back, chest heaving, ceiling spinning as he shuts his eyes._

“Juice is in the fridge. Some fancy stuff Tony orders.” Clint leaned against the door jamb, going for nonchalant which was difficult to pull off considering the state of his clothes and naked chest. Phil had been in a biting mood during last night’s second round. “Can we blame this one on Stark’s whiskey? Or write it off as the headiness of freedom from SHIELD?”

“I’m going for after death crisis for my part. You’ll have to come up with something for yourself.” Phil poured some of the guava juice in a glass and sipped it. “Any way to distract JARVIS long enough to make a break for the elevator?”

“Actually, JARVIS is pretty cool. He won’t tell anyone, and he can even give us locations so you can plot an escape route to your floor.”

“Indeed, I can. If you are ready, Agent Coulson, there is a four minute window to get to the stairwell safely before Captain Rogers comes up from the gym.”

* * *

 

“Better be careful with that,” Natasha warned as Clint drained his glass. “That’s Asgardian mead. Packs quite a punch.”

“Yeah, this is just my first one. Two’s my limit tonight. I’m supposed to give a toast later. Any ideas what to say about Thor and Jane that won’t sound stupid?” Clint had been thinking for the last two weeks leading up to this engagement party and nothing. He had nothing.

“Just be sincere. Or pretend to be.” Natasha raised an eyebrow as Clint took another crystal flute from a passing tray. “You know what happens when you and Coulson get drunk in the same vicinity?”

He shouldn’t have told her about the two little incidents. He’d only slipped up two times and she acted like he was carrying some sort of unrequited torch for the man. “Last glass. That’s all. Promise.”

_Sliding across the bedspread, bracing his hands on the headboard, pressing back to meet Phil’s thrusts, lifting up his hips, flat on his back on the bed. Cock hard and aching, trapped between them, Phil shifting down to his elbows, crushing his mouth against Clint’s, delving deep with his tongue as he slammed in harder._

_“Yes, please, God, Phil.”_

_Pushing up, raising Clint’s hips off the bed, resting Clint’s knees on his shoulders, hands so tight on Clint’s hips he could feel the bruises forming. Snapping in, harder thrusts, pounding now with slaps of skin against skin._

_“This what you want?”_

_“Yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me hard.”_

_White exploding behind his eyes as he came, body shaking, trembling as his muscles protested being folded in double, welcoming each thrust, Phil spilling inside him. Boneless, floating, so far gone in bliss he didn’t care about wet spots or who heard him screaming Phil’s name._

_“So good, Phil. Stay.”_

“Once is an accident. Twice, well, lesson learned. But three times?” Phil tossed the towel into the laundry bin as he reached for the t-shirt Clint held out.

“Asgardian mead?” Clint offered but he knew it was a weak excuse.

“Maybe we could try going out to dinner.” He paused, waiting for an answer.

“Um, like, a date?” Clint didn’t do dates. He was terrible at dates. All awkward conversation and what to order and where to go and … yeah. Not good.

“Maybe?”

“Okay. Sure. Yeah.”

* * *

 

“May I suggest a wine to go with your meal?” The tuxedoed waiter … sommelier … some fancy title asked. Clint eyed the seventeen pages of wine and wondered what would happen if he ordered a beer. In a bottle.

“A nice Pinot Noir?” Phil asked. Clint nodded like he agreed.

“Excellent choice sir.” The guy was eyeing them as he left, and Clint was sure he’d used the wrong fork or something.

“How’s the fish?” Phil tried to start a conversation.

“Fishy.” They’d already decided that work was off-limits and handicapping _Dancing with the Stars_ didn’t seem right in the middle of this posh French restaurant. That left food and weather and … well, not much. “So, how about this rain, huh?”

_Noses bumping, mouths sliding and glasses almost fell. With a shake of his head, he sneezed, hands on wet cloth, water running down his neck. Pools gathering at their feet, soaking the carpet. Sloppy kisses, forehead to forehead, another sneeze.  Clothes clinging to skin, goose bumps running up arms, fingers peeling off shirts, wet thumps as they landed on the floor. Cold, shivering, trying to warm up. Cocks still flaccid._

_“Maybe a nice hot shower would help?”_

_“Sounds good.” Sneeze. “You want to …” Sneeze. “… together …” Sneeze. “…maybe?”_

_“How about I make us both a cup of tea?”_

* * *

 

“Do you want to come up?” Clint asked, hesitant, unsure. They were both exhausted from the battle. Normally he’d head straight for a shower and bed, but his cock was making other plans. “We could … watch a movie or some trash TV or … yeah, I don’t know. Shit, Phil, do you want to have sex?”

 “At least you didn’t go with the ‘come up and see my etchings’ line. A release could be good,” he didn’t sound completely convinced, but he pushed the button for Clint’s floor.

_Cold hands, tensing tight, light touches, long slow pauses, shifting position and trying to get comfortable. Teeth clinking more than once, muscles cramping, bruises hurting. His jaw aching as Clint sucked, stopping – random hair removal from his mouth – curling his fingers around warm cock instead. Finally spilling over Clint’s hand, closing his eyes and laying his head back on the couch as Clint transferred his hand to himself._

_“Sorry. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”_

_“Hey, no worries. Let’s get some sleep, huh?”_

* * *

 

_“It’s just … can you … I mean ... my knee’s aching. Maybe if we turned on our sides?”_

_Twisting, curling together, Phil pressing in slowly, carefully._

_“Like this?”_

_Burning, stretching, back twinging, shifting again. Hiss of discomfort, turning his head, a long breath out._

_“Maybe on my back?_

Phil handed him a couple of muscle relaxants and a glass of juice. “Maybe you should go to medical, get that checked out.”

“Nah. They’ll just tell me to rest and take these.” He tossed the pills into the back of his throat and swallowed. “Just have to ride it out.”

* * *

 

 “I have to go,” Phil said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Paperwork never seems to end.”

 “At least you’ve got Stark Industry lawyers to help which is only fair considering Tony generates the most lawsuits.” Clint stared at the ceiling, not wanting to see the inevitable in Phil’s eyes. “Do you want to …?” Clint stopped at Phil’s slight wince. “Forget I asked.”

Phil took a deep breath. “You can ask for what you want, Clint. We can’t work this out if we don’t talk.”

“Work it out?” Oh, God, that’s what people said when they wanted to end things. Clint had tried so hard, had done everything right, been very careful not to fuck this up because Phil mattered. And he’d done it anyway. “Whatever you want, Phil. I’m easy,” he said with a forced laugh.

“No, you’re not. You’re important okay?”

“Yeah, right. Important. That’s me.”

* * *

 

“Two on your six, Hawkeye! Watch out for their tentacles. Nasty buggers,” Steve said through the comms.

“I’ve got ‘em. There’s more coming up from the wharf, Pier 42 … Wait, I’ve got four of them breaking left, heading right towards the … Phil! Get out of the van. They’re going to …” Clint shouted the last as he sprinted towards the edge of the roof. He could only watch as he slid down the fire escape ladder, too far away to stop the large monsters from smashing into the black van, crumpling the metal. Phil managed to get the back doors open, and he and the two techs spilled out, running for cover. Firing with his gun, Phil avoided two of the creatures but another slapped him with a long wet arm, slamming Phil through the glass window of a coffee shop. Clint fired rapidly, hitting the sensitive eyes to blind them.  “No, no, no. Need help here! Phil’s down.”

A blur of red and Thor hit the nearest monster with his hammer, knocking it away. “Get the Son of Coul. I will hold here.”

“Phil,” Clint choked out, dropping to his knees next to him, heedless of the broken glass. “Phil? Talk to me.”

“Think they’ll give me a cup of coffee to go?” Phil joked, squeezing Clint’s hand.

_“Phil.”_

_Fast kisses, mouths demanding, driven by need. Tremors of pleasure, friction of palm against skin, tweaks of nipples. Straddling Phil’s body, knees pressing in tight, riding with sharp lifts and quick plunges. Meeting halfway, suspended above, nuzzling into his neck, sweet smell of lust and soap and sandalwood. Pure jolts that sent shivers along his spine, broken sounds that might be moans, losing rhythm, stuttering to a halt, tipping over the edge into his climax at the exact same time as Phil._

_“You could’ve died. Again.”_

_Whispering in Phil’s ear, all the secrets, the longing, the fears, the worry. What he needs, how he feels, the thing that scares him the most._

_“I couldn’t stand it.”_

_“I know. Neither could I.”_

* * *

 

_Hands sliding across skin, gentle, tender, eager, needy. Slow, leisurely kisses running from corner to corner of his mouth. Lines drawn by tongues, tracing the full bottom lip and the top of teeth. Fingers stroking, long grazes that cupped and teased and built tension gradually. Body stretched out for exploration. Time. All the time to explore. Nothing off limits, nothing to hide. Curled slick fingers sliding up and down. Mouths sucking in divots of flesh. Legs slipping between. Eyes cataloguing every moment then drifting closed as pleasure grows. Mine, yours, ours, together. Pushing in, waiting, a little more, a little more, no hurry. Opening and taking, full and tight. Fingers digging in, holding through each slow thrust. Head hanging down, bead of sweat running down his nose, warm breath on his neck._

_“God, Clint, you’re perfect.”_

_No mad rush, just lazy strokes, a lifetime in one moment, enough for now. No worries about tomorrow, just this, the two of them, entwined body, mind, souls._

_“Phil, I love …”_

_Drawn out groan and muscle spasm and then falling into a safe, blissful space. Arms wrapped around him, bodies drawn close, drifting off to sleep under the covers of their bed._

_“I love you too.”_

“So, I was thinking,” Clint mumbled. He wound his hand around Phil’s where it rested on Clint’s stomach. “We suck at dating.”

Phil’s chuckled vibrated through both of them. “Agreed.”

“How about we just skip right to the living together, totally in love, earth shattering sex, anything goes part of the relationship?”

“I was going for the ‘let’s get kinky’ plan, but hey, yours sounds pretty good too.”

“Oooooh. Kinky. I like kinky. How about both? Both are good.”

“Go to sleep, Clint. You’ll need your strength.”


End file.
